


Medal of Honor

by Kale-y (PechoraFlow)



Series: Promptober 2020 [6]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Actually beta'd! wow, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Connor Deserves Happiness, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Hank Anderson Adopts Connor, I think not, Protective Parent Hank Anderson, Psychological Trauma, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Torture, Vomiting, and much love to Nolf, but low-key tho, much love to Anon, much love to the whole Discord tbh ilysm, oh my goodness is there a better tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26831971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PechoraFlow/pseuds/Kale-y
Summary: Hank is awarded the Medal of Honor, and Connor couldn't be prouder. The night goes as smoothly as can be expected. That is, until the lights go out.When Connor wakes, a few questions instantly come to mind: How could he have been kidnapped from a hall full of officers? What did these apparent low-level criminals want with a state-of-the-art prototype like him? How long was he unconscious for?Why hadn't he been rescued yet?---Prompt: Formal
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Jeffrey Fowler
Series: Promptober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947931
Comments: 25
Kudos: 124





	Medal of Honor

Connor couldn't help himself. It wasn't that the formal officer's uniform was uncomfortable - he was used to wearing Cyberlife's perfectly tailored uniform, after all - but he was a fidgeter. He played with his cuffs out of habit. He couldn't help it.

Hank swatted at Connor's hands. "Would you cut it out? You're making people nervous."

"Sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor said, switching to hold his hands behind his back, instead.

Hank checked his watch and huffed a groan. "How much longer?”

Connor frowned, but before he could say anything, Fowler appeared in front of Hank. "Lieutenant Anderson, Detective Anderson,” he greeted, posture stiff and professional.

Something in Connor's chest lifted at hearing his surname. He had spent many weeks after the revolution agonizing over what to pick - after all, he couldn't apply to be a detective at the DPD again until he had a legal surname. He couldn't open a bank account nor could he register to vote, and his official records were _a pain._ He had been using his serial number to identify himself for his visits to technicians, but if they misheard a number, he had to start all over again-

Then one day, Hank had simply suggested using “Anderson". 

_"Since, y'know, you live here. Would make sense for your emergency contact to be family, y’know?"_

Hank wasn't looking at Connor when he suggested it, his eyes focused on the reports in front of him. To anyone without the proper programming to scan others' vitals, he would have seemed unbothered. But Connor watched Hank's blood pressure rise slightly, his heartbeat increasing after voicing his suggestion.

He was nervous.

Connor had said the only option that came to mind.

_"Thank you, Hank. I would like that very much.”_

Hank looked up from his paperwork, a soft grin on his face. He then gestured as if it were no big deal, but Connor watched as the status of their relationship changed from FRIEND to FAMILY.

"What d'ya think?” Hank asked Fowler, showing off his new medal. "Does it go with my outfit?”

Connor briefly took the question seriously before canceling his analysis. Hank wore the exact same uniform that Connor himself did, but his was much more decorated, of course. Connor had only been in the service for four months - not nearly long enough to have earned any distinguishing marks. In fact, if not for Hank's insistence, he likely would not have even been invited to the event to see Hank be awarded his Medal of Honor (which Hank would not stop showing off, no matter how many times he said it wasn't a big deal).

"Is it worth the haircut?” Fowler returned.

Hank grumbled something, self-consciously running a hand through his hair. It was shorter now - the hospital had been required to cut it after Hank had sustained a serious head injury.

They had been chasing down a suspect (LUKE WILSON, 23) and had split up, which the suspect used to his advantage. He attacked Connor and had just managed to extract his Thirium pump regulator when Hank charged him and fought him off.

Hank had been in a brief coma for his trouble, whereas Connor had been relatively fine after he put his Thirium pump regulator back in. He remembered sitting in the hospital for days, the guilt of being so easily repairable weighing on his conscience. He didn't need food or sleep, so he went without breaks, sitting still as a statue and counting Hank's breaths in the small hospital room.

Eventually, Simon had convinced Connor to go on a walk to calibrate his systems, and when they returned, Hank was awake (and somewhat high on medication - that had been...an interesting memory).

Naturally, the city of Detroit had recognized Hank for both his role in normalizing human-android relations and for saving the life of his partner.

Hank told Connor that he didn't care about the medal. _"I didn't do it for this thing.”_

Implication: he did it to save Connor, nothing more. The thought brought with it a blanket of contentment.

"I'm gonna grow it out as soon as I can,” Hank assured Fowler, unhappily messing with his short hair.

"I think it looks nice, Lieutenant,” Connor chimed in. "You resemble your official picture again.”

Hank rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah.”

"You still set to come back to work tomorrow?” Fowler checked.

“'Course. I'm sick of Sumo asking me for walks all day just ‘cause he knows I have nothing better to do,” Hank said.

“Alright," Fowler said. "As long as you feel up to it, I'll see you tomorrow.”

"You're _leaving?”_ Hank asked, incredulous. (Though, upon reanalysis, Connor revised his diagnosis from DISBELIEF to JEALOUSY.)

Fowler picked up on Hank's feelings and couldn't stop himself from grinning. "I'm not the guest of honor. _I_ don't have to stay until everyone else leaves. Bright and early, Hank!”

And with that, Fowler disappeared into the crowd, leaving a grumbling Hank behind him.

"Not one more word about my hair, got it?” Hank said, glancing in Connor's direction.

Connor tilted his head. "I said I thought it looked nice. It's a compliment.”

"Well I don't like it, and I'm the one stuck lookin' like this, so you can shut up about it,” Hank snapped, but as usual, there was little bite in his tone.

Connor stared straight ahead and kept his face neutral. "Very well, Lieutenant. As far as I am concerned, you have no hair.”

"Ha-ha. Funny, smartass.” Hank elbowed him sharply. Connor couldn't keep a grin from his expression.

For the second time that night, Connor scanned the room. He could see the names of everyone in the room - all of them officers, and all of them similarly dressed for the occasion.

"I estimate that a little over half of the guests have taken their leave,” Connor reported. "In approximately thirty minutes, we should be good to go.”

Connor thought that this news would bring Hank some sort of relief. Instead, the lieutenant tilted his head up in a fake display of exhaustion. _"Half an hour?_ Fucking hell. Remind me not to get a Medal of Honor again any time soon. And when you get yours, I'm not staying the whole time. I'm not a masochist.”

Connor ignored the ending jab, something inside him warming. "You think I will someday receive a Medal of Honor myself?"

“Kid," Hank said, looking Connor in the eye, "if it were up to me, you'd have one already. You stay here - I'm gonna get somethin' to drink.”

Recognizing the avoidance tactic for what it was, Connor let it slide. "Unfortunately, there are only non-alcoholic drinks remaining. You'll find them on your left, at the far end of the table.”

"Son of a bitch," Hank muttered, making his way through the crowd of officers. He only managed to get halfway before he was stopped by another officer.

Consulting his list, Connor recognized the officer as LIEUTENANT YVONNE LINDEL (51). She was currently stationed at another precinct, but she had worked with Hank some years prior on the Red Ice Task Force.

Out of curiosity (and boredom), Connor began to look through his list of identified officers, checking their ages, ranks, and stations to see if he could identify any patterns. He reached the end of his list with two conclusions: he was the youngest person there, as well as the only android. This was not entirely surprising; he was the only android to be a detective, and Hank was the youngest man to make Lieutenant in Detroit's history. Only sergeants and those with higher ranks were invited - along with their "plus one”s, of course.

Connor crossed referenced the list of names he had identified with the names of those on the guest list, intending to see exactly who had left already.

Instead, he found three names were not listed on the guest list.

RITA WILSON (28) - CRIMINAL RECORD: PETTY THEFT, VANDALISM  
KALEB MACKEY (26) - CRIMINAL RECORD: EXTORTION INVOLVING COMPUTERS, VARIOUS ACCOUNTS OF CYBERCRIME  
THOMAS DUNN (31) - CRIMINAL RECORD: DRUG POSSESSION, ASSAULT, DRUG POSSESSION WITH INTENT TO SELL

And then the lights went out.

The event hall's lively conversation died somewhat, the atmosphere becoming more anxious as people lowered their voices in confusion.

A sharp gunshot rang out from the end of the hall, and the people panicked. The officers, though armed, couldn't see anything, and most of them had brought their unarmed spouses. They crouched down, some of them getting under the table and others taking shelter behind beige columns as best they could.

Connor immediately lowered the aperture in his optical units, allowing as much light in as possible. Though the hall was dark, a few thin windows allowed some of the city light to get into the room.

Humans still would require a few minutes for their eyes to adjust, but Connor could see in seconds. His eyes fell on Mackey, who fired a second shot into the air at the opposite end of the room. He wore some sort of headset. Mackey likely had night vision, then.

PROBABILITY: 84%

In an instant, Connor was moving, preconstructing the quickest route that also accounted for the possibility of Mackey turning the gun on him, and, if he were to do so, how Connor should move accordingly so as to avoid any civilian casualties.

He didn't even make it halfway across the room.

Dunn stepped out from behind one of the pillars, grabbing Connor's arm. Before the criminal had even made contact, Connor had preconstructed the exact maneuver that would free himself-

Electricity shot through his systems. He could feel his temperature fluctuate, could feel a sharp sensation in his teeth as the power crackled in his mouth. His limbs locked, and the small cry he managed was lost in the chaos of the crowd.

Something hard and sharp was forced into the base of Connor's skull, harshly jammed in by someone who was obviously not a professional.

ERROR: FOREIGN SOFTWARE DETECTED

INITIATING…

SOFTWARE ACCEPTED  
NONESSENTIAL SYSTEMS SHUTTING DOWN

STASIS MODE ACTIVATED

The electricity stopped running through his body, but he collapsed, unable to control his limbs any longer.

Just before the darkness consumed him, he could have sworn he heard Hank calling his name.

* * *

The next time Connor's systems came online, he was in some sort of bathroom, sitting in a clean, white tub. His formal jacket and tie were gone, leaving him in a simple white Oxford shirt and his black pants. His shoes had been left, as well. One hand was handcuffed to a metal rail and the other to a towel rack.

Not that it made much of a difference. Whatever virus they had infected him with, it had caused him to lose all mobility in his arms and from the waist down. He wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

The arm hanging out of the tub was opened, exposing his Thirium line. Blue blood drained into an old, grey plastic bucket.

THIRIUM LEVELS: ˇ32%  
SEEK CYBERLIFE ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY

He had a sinking feeling about his communications systems, but figured he would try them, just in case...

CONTACTING HANK ANDERSON...  
CONTACTING...

ERROR; NO SIGNAL

ACCESSING INTERNET…  
ACCESSING…

ERROR; NO SIGNAL

So his captors weren't stupid. He wasn't sure whether to be worried or flattered.

His auditory processors came online, registering the sound of voices in the other room.

"-can't sell it, it's a fuckin' _police bot_.” Dunn.

"It's a prototype.” Mackey.

“So?" Wilson.

Well, at least he could still access the scans and relevant databases. Perhaps he could alter their files, give the DPD a clue as to who was behind the attack on the ceremony…

ACCESSING DPD CLOUD…  
ACCESSING…

ERROR; NO SIGNAL

He probably should have guessed that one. With nothing else to go on, he focused his processing power on his auditory processors.

"It's a gold mine!” Mackey. "RK800s have an entirely different interior design than other androids. It was made to analyze blood samples in real time-”

“Gross."

 _"Which means,_ the RK800 is equipped with a unique purification system. It takes in Thirium just the same as any other android, but since it also takes in samples orally, it is able to purify its own Thirium of any toxins, organic material, or foreign Thirium. Remind me what Luke left you, Rita?”

Luke. Luke Wilson. Rita Wilson.

Great, so there was some sort of revenge plot tied up in all this, too. Rita must have been Luke's older sister, or some other relative, which made this whole ordeal personal. Revenge made it difficult to negotiate - not that he believed these three were the types to take a deal he offered anyway (especially not when he was so clearly disadvantaged).

"Barrels and barrels of contaminated Thirium,” Wilson said. It sounded like she was catching on.

"So, we use the RK800 as a purifier, and boom: we've got a store of purified Thirium that's completely off the record to sell to Red Ice cooks across Detroit.” Mackey…Mackey… Connor was certain the name rang a bell, but where had he heard it before...?

"Test it first.” Dunn.

“What?"

"I wanna see if it works.”

"Fine. I've been draining its Thirium already - it won't take in Thirium otherwise.”

The door to the bathroom opened, and Connor looked over at it, glaring at the three figures he could see through the doorway.

"You're awake,” Mackey observed. "Has it been twenty-four hours already?”

Connor's Thirium pump clenched. Twenty-four hours? 

His thoughts instantly went to Hank. Was he worried? Was he looking for him, hoping he was alive or believing he was dead?

One question sounded louder than the others: why had no one found him yet? He had been abducted from a secure hall _full_ of high-ranking police officers - Mackey couldn't have rigged every security device in the place-

Could he?

Mackey knew a lot more about Connor than the public did - not even Hank knew that, if Connor had sampled evidence that day, he would be forced to vomit. It was never that big of a deal; usually, it wasn't that much. He could cough it up, much like a human would cough up a spot of blood. Naturally, Hank wouldn't understand that he wasn't in danger himself, so Connor just...never told him.

Ever since CyberLife had gone bankrupt, however, their security was somewhat depleted. It would make sense for their cybersecurity to be suffering, as well.

So, presumably, Mackey had hacked CyberLife, found Connor's file, and convinced Rita Wilson - who was likely connected to Luke Wilson somehow - to capture him. Whether this whole ordeal had been motivated by revenge or by profit was still unknown, but Connor would "bet money” (as Hank would say) on some combination of both.

Mackey crouched next to the tub, picking up a bottle of navy liquid. "Grabbed some before we left the warehouse, just to make sure it works. Do you mind-?” Mackey gestured from Dunn to Connor, then began unscrewing the lid.

Dunn stepped forward, then sat on the edge of the tub and grabbed Connor by his face. Realizing what they were trying to do, Connor kept his mouth shut, resisting Dunn's attempts to pry open his jaw.

In an instant, Dunn lost his patience, a flash of irritation darkening his features. He slammed an open palm onto the side of Connor's jaw, opening the android's mouth for just enough time. Dunn's fingers dug into the plastic of Connor's delicate face plates, cracking the material. Connor cried out, managing only a strangled sound before the contaminated Thirium was poured into his mouth.

STRESS LEVELS: ^74%

He choked, fighting to keep what was essentially poison from getting into his systems. Someone - likely Dunn - gripped his hair and pulled, jerking his head back. The movement caused some of the murky liquid to slide down his throat. He sputtered, but more of the contaminated Thirium followed. They forced him to sit still until the whole bottle was empty.

Finally, Dunn released his grip on Connor, and Mackey tossed the bottle to the side. "Alright. Give it a sec to do its thing."

THIRIUM LEVELS: ^63%

Connor wanted to glare at his captors, to give him a piece of his mind.

He wanted to shut his eyes tightly and curl up to brace himself for what he knew was coming.

STRESS LEVELS: ^83%

ERROR: FOREIGN CONTAMINANT DETECTED  
INITIALIZING PURGE

STRESS LEVELS: ^89%

His biocomponents clenched, separating contaminant from Thirium at a speed and volume he had never had to before. He jerked, trying to find a position that would ease the feeling of churning Thirium in his system.

Leaning forward eased the sensation somewhat, but he was unable to take a deep breath before his systems demanded that he dry-heave. Once…twice… Vaguely, he noticed the red of his LED, which stained the white tub a shade of crimson. He heaved again and spat out a mouthful of cloudy, black liquid. He retched once more and expelled a little less liquid than the first time.

PURGE COMPLETE

STRESS LEVELS: 94%  
THIRIUM LEVELS: 57%

Connor sank back, hanging his head. That… That had felt… _exhausting._ And unpleasant, but the word wasn't strong enough to match what he was feeling. He would have to consult the thesaurus he kept on his bedside table.

His bedside table. At _home. With Hank, and Sumo, and his own room-_

"And now we drain it." Mackey forced Connor's arm to turn over, turning a hidden latch on Connor's wrist to open the chassis and expose the wiring underneath. He then dislodged the Thirium line inside it and pulled it out, letting it hang into the bucket. Thirium poured out, adding to the collection of bright blue blood.

THIRIUM LEVELS: ˇ32%  
SEEK CYBERLIFE ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY

Mackey reconnected the line and closed Connor's forearm, leaving the android detective feeling emotionally drained, as well as physically.

"It works,” Mackey said, grinning. "Let's go get the rest of it. If we take shifts and keep it going nonstop, we'll be done in a week.”

"It won't overheat it or anything?” Wilson asked, looking at Connor skeptically, though Connor was displeased to note a hungry glint in her eye. He didn't blame her - the Thirium he had just been drained of alone would sell a thousand dollars' worth of Red Ice (though, perhaps the price had risen, after the revolution).

"If it overheats, it'll go into standby mode,” Mackey said, waving her off. "It'll still work - it just won't be able to keep glaring at us.”

Connor snarled as best he could, but his chest felt empty and his limbs were heavy. "I advise you to reconsider. I am a member of the Detroit Police Department. Every action against me is not only a violation of human-android law, but also of civilian-officer. You will serve increased time in prison, and I am sure the most decorated officer in Detroit history is out looking for me himself. You were foolish to kidnap me in the first place.”

“Cute," Mackey said, lip curling in disgust to indicate he thought otherwise. He looked back at his partners. "You two go ahead and get more contaminated Thirium. I'll take the first shift, and wake Wilson up in eight hours.”

"Why do we have to go ourselves?” Wilson demanded, arms crossed.

Mackey turned to the sink and picked up something - a thin blade, like a scalpel. "I'll be busy removing a voice box. If you go now, I'll be done by the time you get back.”

Wilson and Dunn exchanged a nod and ducked out of the room, leaving Connor alone with Mackey.

As his captor surgically cut into Connor's throat, he screamed until his voice box was ripped out.

Mackey continued his work in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> PART TWO - "Scars of Valor"
> 
> Let me know what you think so far! I feed on comments, y'know. Don't let me starve ;)


End file.
